Hot & Cold
by elliottlukas
Summary: Derek wants to be with stiles, but his past is holding him back. Can he get over his post traumatic stress disorder? Will Stiles stay by his side or get frustrated with his cold ways?
1. Chapter 1

"I try so hard," Stiles raised his eyebrows as he gasped for air between words, "so fucking hard to make you want me," squinted eyes, and veins pulsing, he accused, "You fuck me, then you don't come around for weeks. And every time we do start to get close, you turn cold again,"

Derek tried for a reply, "Stiles, I-"  
"Don't fucking '_Stiles'_ me, I want an honest answer, "His arms crossed, and tensed. Derek's throat is tight as if words will never come, "Why, Derek. Why do you keep pushing me away?"

The hurt in Stiles' face was more than Derek could handle. He's a tough guy, tough as nails. He's seen his whole family burned in a house fire, he grew up as an orphan, and watched his sister get murdered. After all of that, it's no wonder he's cold. It's no wonder he has abandonment issues, but Stiles doesn't know this. Derek's never dealt with his traumas, let alone talk to someone about them.

Derek's head was bowed, with his usual scowl. It's slightly different this time, though. Anxious and hurt. "It's just hard, Sty," He sighed, "It doesn't matter though, I can handle it."

"Listen, Derek, I may not have known you very long but I do know you. I know that nothing gets to you, and i can see the vulnerability in your eyes," Stiles bit his lip, "you can trust me. You can tell me anything."

Derek shook his head, smirked painfully, and chuckled a bit, "it's not that easy, I can't just fucking open up like that. I can't just peel back my scars and open old wounds, it'll only give me an infection," His eyes darted from Stiles to the floor, back to Stiles, "and i don't want you susceptible to that kind of thing."

Stiles wrapped his fingers around Derek's bulky knuckles, feeling every vein and bone, every wrinkle and pore, "I've got a pretty good immune system."

He grinned at Derek, and his eyes were full of sarcastic love.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Chapter two! This chapter contains sex, so don't read if you don't want to see it. I hope everyone enjoys!  
Disclaimer: i don't own stiles or derek or teen wolf.  
__

_Slam!_

Derek shoved Stiles back towards the wall with a thud that shook the whole house. Stiles' hands searched for something to hold onto, from Derek's shoulders, down his torso like a snake. He felt for a belt, grabbed the buckle and pulled Derek close; as close as they could get without being inside each other. Their lips met for an instance and Stiles drew away with blood. Derek always loved biting, Stiles had the scars to prove it. Stiles' lips grazed down his neck viciously, pressing into the arteries, sucking salt sweat and desire from Derek.  
Derek's hands were everywhere; he yanked stiles' hips towards him, making stiles gasp with anticipation. He kissed Stiles hard, and their tongues mingled like it were a teenage party. Stiles tasted sweet, like honey and Derek tried desperately not to devour him right then and there. His whole body burned as stiles switched the positions. Derek's against the wall, vulnerable, and while he'd never admit it, he loves being pushed around.  
It tingles where Stiles' fingers touch as he pushes them into Derek's stomach, pushing his shirt up as stiles drops to his knees. He fumbled with Derek's buckle and slid the belt off, saving it for later. The button unhooked, and the zipper was silent. Stiles pulled Dereks hard dick out of his boxers, exposing him and took Derek whole. He rubbed his balls and stroked the shaft with every suck and flick of his tongue, taunting him until moans escape his throat. Derek's eyes roll back to his head and his jaw hung wide with pleasure. He grabs Stiles' head, and although there's not enough hair to grip, he makes stiles choke on his cock, pushing himself into his throat. Music to his ears. Stiles head bobbed while his eyes engulfed Derek like an ocean. His hands still tugged at his sack, stroking his member at uneven paces. Derek's cock pulsated as he felt himself about to cum. He pushed Stiles off, maintaining his hard-on, and threw him to his back.  
The floor is never a bad place to fuck.

Stiles jolted back as Derek swallowed him with his expression. Derek dropped his jeans, along with his black boxers, and began to undress stiles. Stiles' cock was harder than Derek's, and he took advantage of that as he unzipped stiles' jeans, and yanked them down, making sure to rub him. Derek kissed his neck and nibbled his ear, his own breath heavy and stiles' whimpers weak. He pulled back and tore stiles' shirt off, exposing his bare, bony chest. Derek's tongue trailed up his stomach and left a path of saliva, kissing his chest, playing with his nipples. Derek's teeth chattered against the steel piercing as he licked, and bit, and loved. His fingers were sliding all over Stiles, from his cock, to his throat, to his ass, to inside him. They both let out a gasp as Derek fingered him, and stiles slowly melted in his hands.

Derek pulled back and crawled to his jeans, frantically searching his pockets for a rubber. He drew out a red condom, cherry flavoured. Stiles loves cherry.  
He tore it open with his teeth, spat the end to the floor, and rolled it onto his member; all the while stiles' is soaking up his lovers beauty with gaping eyes, his tongue against his teeth, one eyebrow cocked.  
Derek turned him over onto his knees, and slipped his cock inside of Stiles with a single thrust, making him plead for more. Derek's nails dug in as he pushed himself deeper, thrusting hard and quick. His hands traced stiles' spine, nails scraping skin, drawing cuts onto him. Blood drew fast and Derek found himself painting Stiles like a canvas. He was fucking his artwork; fucking a masterpiece.  
"Fuck, Derek, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Stiles gasped as he threw his head to the ceiling, arching his back in nirvana, "Oh my god," his head whipped forward as his eyes were squinted closed, and his eyebrows creased, "Come on, Derek, fuck me hard," Stiles muttered.

He slammed himself into Stiles, expelling gasps and moans and heavy breaths from both of them. Their bodies were in sync and so were their heartbeats, pounding to each others pulse. Their blood rushed, and their breath shortened, and their vision blurred as they fucked each other. Euphoria was an understatement. All the anger and distrust and coldness evaporated from before, and they were one. One soul, two bodies intertwining.  
Derek turned stiles onto his back, threw his legs over his shoulders and slapped him, "Fucking dirty whore," He began thrusting hard, to the rhythm of Stiles' gasps, "you love it when i fuck you, don't you?" Derek grabbed his face and turned it slightly to look at the mark from the smack. Not his best, but it'll do.

"Fuck!" He cried, His fingers locked in Derek's thick, black hair pulling it until he screeched.

Derek wrapped his hand around Stiles' neck, his face was purple. His mouth was trying to suck down air, but he only breathed Derek's grip. He could feel him searing bruises into his skin, the blood cells rising and he could feel his heart in his throat. Stiles' vision began to haze, he felt lips on his, and he could breathe again.

The thrills of breath play.

Soaked of sweat and near exhaustion, Derek felt his cock tighten. He started rubbing Stiles, hoping he would cum with him. Their cocks swelled, and their muscles tightened and tensed. Stiles' face contorted and Derek's was a mess with his Eyebrows knotted. Biting his tongue, with a moan tumbling through his lips, Stiles shot his load first. Sloppy, sticky cum sprayed onto Derek's shoulders, the dents of his collarbones, and even a little on his smug face. He always looked smug after making stiles cum. Like he'd accomplished something great, but really he had accomplished something great. Stiles never comes like that with anyone else, and Derek can tell. He can see the flush of pink wash over Stiles' mole speckled face. How his eyes skitter around the room when he's nervous, and the way his mouth hangs open in the most adorable of ways.

Derek blew second, his cock still inside Stiles. "Fuck, Stiles!" he cried as it filled the tip of the condom; Derek always had big loads. He drew himself out of his lover and slipped off the condom.

"Makeup sex is the best kind of sex," Derek sighed, "We should fight more often." He flashed a small smirk at Stiles, his eyes bright.

Stiles picked up on Derek's unusually sunny mood and teased, "Derek Hale, happy," his hands gestured and his eyes visioned a billboard. "You know, it doesn't really sound right, but I could get used to it." He gave a light laugh and worked his way up to his feet, even though his knees were still shaking.  
He was always the first one to get to the bathroom after sex.  
Stiles hated being dirty. It's not like he's a germaphobe or anything, he just likes to be clean. Derek on the other hand loves to get down and dirty. He's always the one fixing the car, getting grease all over his tight black jeans -that show off his ass _perfectly- _and his white wifebeater. Or when he comes back from the gym and doesn't shower. He can just sit in his filth, but Stiles cant.

The after sex routine is simple. He showers for a half hour, taking the most time washing his hair (even though there's almost none). He conditions, rinses, washes, rinses, washes, rinses and conditions again. Then he scrubs his face with a sensitive skin soap and scrub gloves to remove all the grease from his face. Acne wash is then smathered all over his face and neck. It's got green tea extracts and moisturisers in it, so it doesn't dry his face out. Then he uses a body wash and makes sure to clean every place twice. Oh, and he brushes his teeth in the shower.

derek was sitting on the couch, his jeans were half buttoned up and he chose to leave his shirt off.

'_Hiss', _the sizzle of a cigarette butt hitting liquor. You'd hear it after every time Derek fucked someone. He loved to kick back with his legs crossed, smoke in hand, Sipping liquor from the bottle because it's useless to use a glass. This was his after sex routine.

He swirled the ashy drink around, and heaved himself off of the couch. His feet shuffled towards the bar, stocked full of different kinds of alcohol. Whiskey, gin, vodka, tequila, rum, beer, liqueurs, brandy, and wine. It was never an empty shelf.

Derek has had a lot of alcohol in his day, but the kind he took a liking to the most was whiskey. Scotch, bourbon, Canadian, Irish; it didn't matter what kind. If it was put in front of him, he'd drink it. Then again he was a bartender at a gay club, so one shouldn't be surprised that he had so much booze in his house, and also the utensils and ingredients to make drinks.  
Part of him thinks Stiles only comes around because of all the alcohol Derek has, but he knows better than that. Stiles isn't that kind of person, he doesn't use people. He's usually the person being taken advantage of. He cares so much for people, and puts them on the top of his priorities. No one ever seems to care about him as much as he cares about them. He's too nice for his own good. He's too giving, and too understanding, and too much of a pushover. But that's what Derek loves. He needs someone like that to balance himself out. Someone with feelings.

Derek searched the cabinet for a bottle of whiskey, and landed his sights on Jack Daniels. He slid the bottle off the shelf, and cracked open the lid. He inhaled the boozy aroma, and took a swig.

Stiles walked out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, still streaked with water. He dried himself in the living room and looked for his boxers and shirt.

"Hey, Der," he questioned, his skin no longer dripping.

"Yes, Sty?"

He drew up his green underwear, "Wanna' pour me up a shot?" Stiles' face was hopeful.

Derek turned himself from the cabinet and laughed, "That's a funny joke. You're still underaged."

"Yeah, I am, but that doesn't stop you from fucking me," he paused, "does it?"

Derek plucked vodka from the shelf, along with a double-shot glass from the cupboard. "No, I guess it doesnt," he filled it to the brim, daring Stiles to take it.

He stared at it for a second, picked up the tiny glass, and then knocked it back like it were juice. "Fuck, man," his eyes brightened like the sun, "I'm gonna have a few more of these tonight!"

"Just make sure you don't get too out of hand," Derek groaned, "I don't want to have to take care of you."

Stiles was sarcastically offended, "Hey hey hey, I can take care of myself, big boy," He pulled his grey shirt overhead and crossed his arms, "I'm not some damsel in distress that needs to be saved."

Derek also crossed his arms, flexing his chest. Stiles couldn't help but stare, mouth dropped open slightly.

"Need I remind you of all the times I've saved your ass from alcohol poisoning?"

"Okay fine, i get your point." He broke his gaze, and threw his left hand in the air as if he were swearing on the bible, "I will not drink so much that i black out."

Derek gave a small snicker, pouring Stiles his second shot.

"All i'm saying is that we should like, totally go rob the liquor store," Stiles said sloppily.

"Stiles, you're drunk," Derek slurred, bottle still in hand.

His face was dope-happy, and his tone was even more, "_Am_ I drunk?"

"Yes, Sty," He assured, "you're hammered, actually,"

"Well then you are, too!"

"Yeah, I suppose I am,"

They laughed, and Stiles layed his head onto Derek's shoulder. It was nice, being close like this for once, they never would sober. Their breath tasted of liquor and love, as their heads hung in the dim light. The nights always seem to pass faster with each other. The slow ticking of a clock becomes a speeding ticking time bomb, and morning is at the end of the fuse. Hours passed when it felt like minutes, even seconds. The darkness dissipated into the sky, and beams of sunlight lathered their faces.

"Derek," Stiles whispered, hoping he hadn't passed out.

"Hmm," He was awake, but barely. His eyes drooped, and his breathing was involuntary.

Stiles closed his eyes, "do you think we could love each other?"

"I don't know," he muttered, "I hope."

This wasn't the answer Stiles was looking for.  
He swallowed the lump in his throat and waited. He waited for Derek to drift to sleep. He waited for the booze to wear off. He waited for Derek to warm up to him. He waited for the hangover to hit. He waited for them to fall in love.

Stiles carefully lifted himself from the bed, and placed his feet on the carpet. They took him to the couch, where he could be alone with his thoughts. Even though Derek was asleep, he wouldn't be alone enough if he were in the same room as him. For once Stiles wanted to get away, wanted to have time to himself. It was new to him, but it was lonely. He couldn't help but think this is how lonely Derek is.  
Stiles lay on the couch, clutching a pillow between his arms. He had a sick stomach, and the lump was still stuck. He felt the tears slosh behind his eyelids, and tried to force them back. He rubbed his eyes, kept them closed, and wiped them with the blanket. But there was no holding them back.

He waited for the tears to stop.


End file.
